


the death of each day's life

by taiyakeo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: but caspar's there to help him through it, but i will just to be safe, caspar also has a cat? in his arms, caspar stop breaking school rules challenge, he deals with a lot of guilt, i wasn't sure whether to tag this with graphic depictions of violence?, keo stop referencing shakespeare challenge, linhardt's experiences on the battlefield, linhardt: (lady macbeth voice), linhardt: (macbeth voice) linhardt shall sleep no more, linhardt: (vine voice) is that allowed??, will these hands ne'er be clean?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taiyakeo/pseuds/taiyakeo
Summary: A soldier may put down their axe, their sword, their lance, an archer their bow, but he will never be able to separate himself from his magic.*Battle is ugly, raw and violent. Linhardt can't handle knowing that he's been a part of it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	the death of each day's life

The library smells of wood and paper. All is quiet. Linhardt vaguely registers that there's a weight in his hands, but he's not reading. He sits and stares into the bookshelves, wondering about the stories he'd read as a child about knights. Valiant knights, slaying dragons and criminals. Knights who are all monsters. Monsters wielding lances, ready to pierce flesh and skin, tear away dreams and hopes and fears and until there is nothing left but bone and blood to be discarded on the ground or presented as a trophy of victory, like a deer's head mounted on a hunter's wall. Monsters with swords, pinpointing a person's weaknesses to slice like one would the meat of an animal, practising postures and stances, a morbid dance to be repeated over and over until death. Monsters like him whose weapon comes from within, to be honed to best quickly finish an enemy. It is part of him--it _is_ him, this magic; he has become a thief of lives, of breath. A soldier may put down their axe, their sword, their lance, an archer their bow, but he will never be able to separate himself from his magic. 

He can't remember how many times he's washed his hands, running them through clean water as often as he can, but he can't wash his mind clear of the images--the corpses, the acrid stench of blood and the way his shoes had slipped with the liquid underneath, and the blackness of the blood that had consumed his soles after the battle as though to mark him as a murderer. He can't sleep; the memories keep tugging him awake. 

Perhaps this is a punishment for a past life's sins. 

"Linhardt?" 

He turns and finds Caspar standing behind him, a small cat slung over his arms. He hadn't noticed him coming in. 

"Is that allowed?" he asks, warily eyeing it as Caspar scratches its ears. 

Caspar shrugs and kicks out a chair, flinging himself into it. "Probably not," he says airily. "But more importantly, you aren't sleeping. That's unusual. You look troubled, too." 

He says nothing of the rawness of Linhardt's hands. 

"I'm fine." 

Caspar frowns. "That's a pretty bold lie."

"I can't sleep," Linhardt sighs. He's just echoing Caspar's words, but he can't find anything else to say. 

"Because of the battle?" 

So he knows. It would have been obvious anyway; Linhardt kept his face neutral most of the time, so the expression of horror he assumed he'd had during the battle would have seemed out of the ordinary. 

He nods, and Caspar says nothing for a while, sitting back and staring. The cat by this point has wriggled out of his arms and wanders around the library, looking for a comfortable place to settle. 

"You know, if you hadn't killed that guy, he probably woulda gotten one of us, right?" 

"Yes," he says slowly. "I know. It's _battle."_

"Would you rather that?" Caspar leans forward.

"No, but it's still not pleasant to think I have blood on my hands." 

"You had no choice then," Caspar says. "I think you just did what seemed best. You just chose to protect us, and that's pretty cool of you to do. From now on, you can just heal, you know? Just focus on helping us. Battles have to happen, but it doesn't have to be your duty to fight." 

Linhardt nods. "I just--that doesn't take away from the fact that I killed somebody." He throws up his hands, sighing. 

"Killed. Past tense. Just don't do it again." 

Linhardt isn't completely convinced, but he feels a little bit better. Caspar's right. He can use his magic to help people, and even though he resents the violence of battle, he supposes it is a necessary evil sometimes. He hadn't considered it before; in his panic at being thrust into battle he'd thought he had to be part of the fighting too. 

"Will you stop me if I try again?" 

Caspar nudges his arm. "I'll be so quick in battle you won't even have to consider it."

He smiles, slightly.


End file.
